


will it mend or will it break

by sinteresting_facts



Series: Afterthoughts (WoW RP and OC Stuff) [5]
Category: Original Work, World of Warcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinteresting_facts/pseuds/sinteresting_facts
Summary: Drabble I wrote a few months ago.
Series: Afterthoughts (WoW RP and OC Stuff) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1031495
Kudos: 2





	will it mend or will it break

**Author's Note:**

> (title from 'my only son' by pig pen theatre co!)

It smelled like wet dirt here. The sky hung with overcast shadows, clouds drifting in wet clumps through the gray haze. All around him, trees now soaked with days of rain stood tall, their trunks darkened from all the wet. Schae himself was soaked, but for once he didn’t mind it. He trudged onward through the forest, dark red hair plastered to his head seeing as he’d forgone his cloak in favor of keeping his pack dry. _Light,_ he thought. _If this keeps up I’ll need to find an inn, or something....there’s no way I won’t contract some sort of disease by staying out here all night._ His wet, clammy hands were slick with rain as he grabbed the straps of his pack. The material was a leather-reinforced canvas, and it had that doughy quality that wet canvas did. He fiddled with it, scraping his nail and thumb against it just so he could feel the texture of it.

Every inch of him was damp, and as the misty water began to seep in underneath his breastplate he started to feel very uncomfortable. He tugged at his sleeves while he walked, trying to find some iota of comfort as the chill continued to seep in and turn his clothing into little more than wet swathes of cloth. Usually, the rain didn’t bother him. In fact it was generally quite comforting to hear the pitter-patter of rain so common to his homeland.

His homeland. Was that even home? Could it ever be?

He sighed, and slowed his steps in the shade and protection of a large oak tree. It’s leaves were stained a darker tone, likely a result of the lingering death of Duskwood. He tipped his head back, eyes closing as he faced the leaves, and the grey sky in between them.

_Fuck me._ He receded back into himself, the markings on his right arm going numb and cold as he did so.

_I'm not making it to an inn. I’m not getting that far. So._ he looked around, not really finding any better options than the tree he was already under. He stared upwards, thinking that he really didn’t want to get covered in spider silk this late. He placed one hand on the tree, pressing each inch of his wet, clammy skin to the uneven bark. Little flecks of dirt, lichen and wood came off as he pressed against the bark. He drew his hand back, looking at the little indents in his flesh and the residue. Another sigh, and he wiped his palm off on his pant, only succeeding in getting it more wet. He breathed in and out through his nose. Light.

Did he want to deal with sitting down, and getting dirt all over himself? Maybe. On second thought, the idea of getting himself dirty was a bit too much to bear.

He leaned against the tree to alleviate some of the pressure on his feet. Why was he feeling like shit all of a sudden? Was it the rain? The water dripping down his his scalp and neck definitely made his toes curl, and the chill in the air brought back memories he didn’t want to deal with. Memories. Right.

He let the tension out in his legs and ended up sliding to the ground. _Gilneas, the rain, the smell of death and urine and sterile—_ He shuddered, and tried to hide his face in his knees, hands gripping the sides of his head. _Darrow._ That name wouldn’t stop rattling around his brain, and it killed him inside. The brother he left behind, the one he _abandoned_ to save himself.


End file.
